


Prince of Mirkwood

by ravenklaw



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Extreme angst, Lies, LotR AU, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rape, Slash, Violence, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3414824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenklaw/pseuds/ravenklaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something happened with Legolas that caused a war in Middle Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrath of the King

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from my livejournal. Will add more notes later.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something happened with Legolas that caused the war in Middle Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a reposted story from livejournal account.I'll add more notes later.

Elrond's POV

He was not close to Thranduil, but their children were. Every time they visited Mirkwood, it was due to his children’s insistence. He was always with them. In his earlier days, for whatever reasons, he remembered that Mirkwood was once his second home. It was when Oropher was the king that he was Mirkwood’s constant visitor.

Oropher was a good friend, older, calmer, wiser. He once had a meeting with him along with the select advisers. It was a very important meeting, and Thranduil was there—on Oropher’s lap. He remembered staring long at the elfling as he was contemplating what it was like when this one, so pampered at birth, would be given a chance to reign in this elven realm.

He should have talked to him when he was younger. He should have familiarized what lay within the thick façade. He should have, for it should have been the only way to reach him in this dire time. And now, he found himself among the court advisers, looking helpless while the king barked his orders left and right. They were inside the court, but outside was a huge Mirkwood army ready for battle.

“As I was saying, Thranduil, son of Oropher, we cannot accomplish anything if we let our emotion rule our intellect,” he finally said.

“Elrond, Oropher’s friend, father of Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir, I highly doubt that you could say the same thing had you been in my situation. Oh, how I wish..”

“You wish what? That it should have been one of my children and not yours?”

“Yes!” Thranduil answered, his eyes red in anger, “yes, yes, yes.” The last was said with more force and to his face.

He was livid. Evil words were waiting to pour out of his lips. However, his mind halted them, like a mantra telling him to wait, breathe, and wait. Then in his mind he saw the elfling skipping in his garden, laughing as flowers bloomed, and bringing life in Rivendell in the middle of fall. Thranduil’s son was the youngest of the first born. 

He sighed and spoke “we’re with you, Thranduil. But we have to call a council for this. We cannot declare war unless it was the only choice we have. ”

“What they did is a declaration of war. It was a crime against my son and against our race.”

“It is, indeed, a crime, but we should arm ourselves with knowledge and guidance from the wisest. Should this war happen, more innocent lives would be lost, young as Legolas himself.”

“None! There is none younger than my son, Elrond. None!” Thranduil’s voice echoed through. Silence reigned after as the king sat on his high chair, eyes red with tears.

“There are questions to be answered,” he started again, “questions like…” He stopped. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. With glaring eyes upon him, Thranduil stood up again, his steps were deliberate, closing the distance between them.

“Like what, Elrond?” the king asked, his face an inch closer to him. 

“Like what brought Legolas in the company of men?” he replied with little trepidation.

***********************  
Elladan's POV 

Hurried footsteps became clearer as every second passed until a pair of fair feet enclosed with golden sandals came first in his line of sight. His eyes then traveled up to the rest of it and rested on the fair face of his sister. Lady Arwen of Lothlorien.

“Tell me what happened? Why is the Lady Galadriel going to Mirkwood? Please tell me it has nothing to do with Estel,” her voice laced with fear.

He looked up into her grey eyes misted with concern. “It’s not about Estel. It’s Legolas.”

“What happened? Is he well?”

“I don’t think he’d ever be again.”

“Tell me, Elladan, for Legolas is also dear to me.”

“Something terrible happened to him, so evil that Adar does not mention it in our presence. He only talks about it with King Thranduil.”

“Tell me what Adar asked you to tell Lady Galadriel.”

“He asked me to tell the Lady of Lorien her presence is in dire need in Mirkwood lest a great war ensues.”

 

“That grave then. My heart goes to little Greenleaf right now. I feel the urge to see him,” she said.

Although there was no doubt in his heart that Arwen truly loved Legolas, he has not apprehended the depth of his sister’s feeling towards Estel.

“Arwen, there is something I have to tell you,” he said almost like a whisper.

“Why is there dread in your voice, Elladan?”

“I have not told anyone of this secret, but I feel that I should at least tell someone to share the onus it brings.”

“Elladan, if it is that deep a secret then I would be honored that you have chosen me. However, I come to know that there is someone much closer to you and dearer that it puzzled me why you have not come to him.”

“Because this secret would hurt him deeply, Arwen. And yet I have to share it with someone I can trust.” Arwen stared at him with confusion.

“It does not only concern Legolas, but him as well?” Arwen asked.

“And Estel as well.”

“Estel? You know how dear Estel to me is, Elladan. Tell me that this secret will not hurt me so deeply.”

His gaze was on her again. Fear was written on his sister’s face, and on it his answer. Arwen loved Estel that much that…“Oh, my Lady, I fear that you should not know it as well,” he said.

“Elladan? Can the knowledge bring me to the halls of Mandos?”

He felt the moist in his eyes. 'By the Valar, what did his Adar have done to punish his children this way?'

“Yes, my Lady,” he said, tears blurring his sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a note even just to say 'hi.' :)


	2. Second Born and the Treaty of Equality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something happened with Legolas that caused the war in Middle Earth

Several Thousands of Years Ago

Galadriel's POV

Fear flashed in her mind as she read the scroll. She was certain it did not come from her heart. She turned her gaze from what she was reading into each council member’s soul, and it lingered on the golden haired elf wearing the green sash.

‘Your fear is so loud it reverberates,’ she spoke in his mind. He held her gaze, and this time with much bravery. 

“Fear not. I remembered that we were here when Arda was much younger. There was no Secondborn then. We were in the mind of the Valar when Arda was conceived. We shall continue to live here until it is time to leave. It is our right. And no SecondBorn race can take it away from us. 

Lord Elrond, Lord Oropher, My lord Celeborn, come with me. We will join them in their council.”

*****************************

The Treaty of Equality

Although it was impossible to see it in her pale impassive face, it was there. She could even vouch that she did it—the flinch. Was it from anger? From pain? Disappointment?

“We, the races of men—the Edain and the Middle peoples—of dwarves, and of any other races here in Middle Earth have been in consensus that the only way to end racial discrimination is by declaration of equality among all. Hence, this treaty has come forth,” said the edain Elendil.

She was holding it down. Her temper. And if she was having difficulty in keeping it from surging beyond her will-power, she could just imagine how Lord Oropher was holding his. It was inevitable. Fool, Second People.

“I am aghast for the seemingly noble reason behind the creation of the treaty. This was as if you lived by your own belief, human. You almost convinced me with that. And yet, within breaths you manage to contradict yourself. The Edain and the Middle Peoples? Why separate yourself from Middle Peoples? Aren’t you all but mere mortals? And here you are raving about Treaty of Equality.”

“Calm down, Lord Oropher,” she said as Oropher first stared at her hard as if they were silently communing. He then turned to sit on his chair again.

“That treaty, edain Elendil, has been created in our absence? Am I right?” she continued with the same calm voice.

“Elendil, your highness. If you choose to call me sans my title, call me Elendil. As to your question, yes. You’re correct. Forgive us then for thinking that you with the rest of the elves had gone to Valinor.”

“And yet, you have summoned us to request for our rings to seal that parchment. Yes?”

“Yes, My Lady. If you so continue to live here in Middle Earth, then we request you and your people to abide by this treaty.”

“Then we shall sign to end this dispute. Our time in Middle Earth is short and we wish not to invoke any more differences among us.”

“Speak for yourself, Galadriel, for no seal of mine shall be in that treaty. And if to leave this place is its consequence, then I shall be happy to take that journey to Valinor,” Oropher said.

A few hundred years later Oropher fulfilled his words. He sailed to Valinor, and this time, unlike that first journey they had once with the rest of the elven race, he was unhindered.

But that day, when Oropher was about to embark on the ship bound to Valinor, Galadriel, Elrond and the rest of the noble elves came to see him off.

“Galadriel, I know that you know,” he said looking into Galadriel’s eyes, “and that the rest of you know,” he turned his gaze to each of the noble elves present, “that the Dunedains do not wish for any equality among race. They did it to lord Middle Earth and to have elves as their subjects.”

“Lord Oropher, my friend. Yes, equality among races did not even cross their mind until then.”

“But why?”

“They do respect us, Oropher, and still they have our loyalty. But, my Lord, they only have one wish that cannot be given unless the treaty exists.”

“I do not want to hear it anymore. You’re wise, Galadriel, but I know, although it seldom happened, that your words once failed you.” Oropher then waved goodbye, kissed his children, and boarded the ship.

Thranduil became king of Mirkwood. The rest of the elves who remained in Middle Earth retreated farther and farther into their forests and distanced themselves from any human affairs.

Since then Arda missed her fair children.


	3. Elrond’s Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I'm still familiarizing all the buttons in here and didn't know how to make the text in italics.

/Background story of Elrond's children and Legolas/

 

Elladan's POV

Black pony for him, white for Elrohir, and a wreath of the rarest green and white orchid flowers for Arwen—these were their gifts from Lord Glorfindel. He and Elrohir embraced the noble elf while Arwen just stood behind them. When they broke their embrace, Arwen held her hands up for Glorfindel to reach. The next day, Arwen rode Gwaew, Elrohir’s white pony, at the court yard while Glorfindel and Adar were watching at the balcony. Two nights later, she came to him jumping in all merriment.

“I have a new horse!” she told him.

Another more summer came and his oak tree grew taller and more robust. They were seated on their favorite spot where two strong and vast branches twined to give them more space for resting. Elrohir was looking at the red roselike flower, an offshoot so rare coming from the nearby tree. He, on the other hand, was looking at his twin.

“Don’t you think it’s amazing for that tree to bear flower?” Elrohir said, his eyes never leaving the flower.

“It’s amazing, indeed, but don’t you have any plan of looking at it closer?”

“It’s more beautiful from here.”

“How do you know it is not more beautiful up close?”

Seven days later, it was gone. Arwen took it and planted it in her garden.

When Arwen came to them again, he thought he knew what the glitter in her eyes was all about. Then he realized it was more than a beautiful gift. Adar took her to Lothlorien and met Galadriel. Her description of the Golden Woods and the White Lady prompted him to approach his Adar and demanded for him and his twin be taken there in haste. Elrond just smiled and gave in to their request.

Although he constantly disagreed with Arwen, he cried when the latter chose to stay in the golden woods.

Thousand of years passed by, he remembered his Adar came out of the House of Healing. His eyes glittered in joy, lips curved in genuine smile, and in his arms was the baby Estel. He remembered how he once complained about the baby’s non-pointy ears, but despite his determination not to love the new baby for his lack of the elven grace, he ended up taking care of him and loving every minute of it.  
One night, Estel rushed to his room, face flushed from mixed exertion and joy. His eyes lit while words came out of his lips.

“Elladan, I saw Luthien in the garden!” Arwen visited Rivendell that night. Estel was 14 years old then, but he was tall for his age.

Much had happened in Rivendell. Many visitors came by, some from Lothlorien, some from Mirkwood. He had another black horse, a descendant of Daug, his gift from Glorfindel. His archery skill had improved greatly that he won many contests. He had a new sword too, a gift from Haldir who became his close friend. The Captain of the Golden Woods proved to be a great warrior. He amazed him with tales of adventures. He learned about war tactics, sword tricks, legendary warriors who had been Haldir’s comrades, life in general, beauty, flowers, trees, birds, intimacy, mate, coupling. These had occupied his time, his mind, that he was not aware of what occurred behind him such as Elrohir’s new obsession and Arwen’s reason to come back to Rivendell.

So he did not know that, when Estel became close to the fair-haired prince of Mirkwood, there was no single heart to be broken, but two, both were his siblings’—Arwen’s and Elrohir’s—and, at this present time, Estel’s. Why did Thranduil have to give in to the Valar’s last gift?


	4. The Royal Envoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something happened with Legolas that caused the war in Middle Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just bear with me, the POV changes from time to time.

/back to the present/

Galadriel's POV

Silence came to dominate again after the heated exchange of words. She stared at the flowered- laced stoned walls built in the olden times when Oropher believed his people needed stoned walls, and fortress in the middle of the forest. Her companions, Elrond, Thranduil and Gandalf proceeded to drink their wines. They needed it to clear their minds.

“Thranduil, this wine is marvelous. You surely found a treasure in Galion,” said Gandalf, breaking the silence.

“I don’t want to discuss wines, or Galion or Mirkwood’s treasures with you, Gandalf! My heart cannot rest while the transgressors are still breathing.”

“Thranduil, I am only discussing to you the value of what you’re about to risk,” replied Gandalf, his right hand fondling his pipe.

“If you’re all against my decision, you can say it so. But none of you can change my mind.” Thranduil was indignant. The white sampaguita and red wild rose peeking into the stoned window distracted her. The two flowers were like entwining hands, or two pairs of eyes staring at her—one sad, the other angry. She knew this would happen, but as to how and when were details she had not seen. She remembered a white rose floating in her basin, but as its water turned black, the white silky rose was then soaked with blood. 

“Thranduil, at the early days, I tried to convince your father to stay,” she said, “I sensed a great danger that would befall in Middle Earth, and his presence would be needed for the elven race. I tried to tell him to wait for a little more years, to witness the unfolding of the great folly ever made in the form of the treaty. Now, Elrond, Gandalf, this transgression done to Legolas is a clear breaching of the great treaty that bound every race in Middle Earth. Tell me, what the punishment of this is?” she asked.

“Death,” Gandalf whispered.

“But, Galadriel, can they execute the sons of the Kings?” Elrond asked.

“Elrond, can you kill your own sons?”

She saw Elrond winced while Gandalf brought the cup of wine to his lips.

****************  
Under the canopy of tangled branches of firs, oaks and beeches, hooves of horses rattled the undergrowth, their noises unwelcome, eyes unused to the dim halls of the forest. Suddenly their horses neighed and curveted wildly causing several riders to fall onto the leaf-covered forest floor. Whooshing came in quick succession and within a heart beat several more riders followed their comrades on the bed of dried leaves, arrows deeply buried into their chests.

“Halt!” came the frantic voice of the rider hooded in black, his being at the front yet strategically guarded by a few men signified his status as the band leader. In answer to his plea, more arrows wantonly flew and thumped into their targets’ chests until he, whose unsheathed sword poised aimlessly at the unknown attackers, came to stand alone, devoid of his horse.

“We’ve come here for peace,” the leader said angrily, yet fear evident in his grey eyes.

Dark haired, pointy beings came out from the branches completely encircling him.

“You meant, you’ve come here for peace,” replied their leader, the one standing in front of him, “Welcome to Mirkwood then. Our hospitality is still extended even to our distant kin.”

 

*****************************************************  
Any talk there was before was surely interrupted by the opening of the door at Thranduil’s right to usher three elves clad in Mirkwood uniform—green cloak, light brown tunic adorned with leafy patterns, brown belt buckled with Mirkwood seal, and dark brown leggings. The Captain of the guards of Mirkwood approached Thranduil and whispered. The king’s face turned grim.

“I think we have a visitor.” More guards came through the door, two of them were holding a prisoner. They pushed him forward. The prisoner kneeled down before them, and then he raised his head to find the King’s eyes. His face was pale from exertion, fear, illness, pain? Galadriel couldn’t tell.

“Your majesty, King Thranduil, Queen Galadriell, Lord Elrond, The Great Wizard Gandalf, I have brought to you tidings from King Arathorn of Gondor, King Theoden of Rohan, King Earendur of Arnor, King Brand of Dale, and from my kingdom of Dol Amroth. I have come with my men, but we were ambushed by the elven guards. I was the only one who survived.” These last words he uttered in anguish to the King’s apparent satisfaction.

“Well met, Prince Imrahil. Stand up. Your elvish blood is quite evident in your outer as well as inner attributes, ” Gandalf said with knowing mirth.

“You should have been wise enough not to bring men in my kingdom, Imrahil. Your elven blood afforded you a pass for this realm,” came Thranduil’s stern voice.

“I can see why they have chosen you to bring the message,” Elrond said.

“Come, sit here beside me, and drink this wine,” Gandalf offered.

“Be hasty and tell us your tidings,” Thranduil said harshly.

“Surely, Thranduil, you wouldn’t deprive your kin a taste of Mirkwood’s best wine,” Gandalf said smiling.

 

Imrahil though hesitant walked towards Gandalf and sat at the offered chair. He took the cup of wine extended to him. He drank it in one gulp and almost choked. When the liquid all settled in his inside, he sighed from the odd pleasure it brought in. Realizing what he just did, he cleared his throat and forced to look up to acknowledge the four pair of eyes observing his every move.

“What was this?” he asked. He felt light-headedly.

“That’s the wine of the valar,” Gandalf answered in amusement.

“I’m sure you have not come here for our wine, Imrahil. We are now awaiting your business,” Thranduil said impatiently.

Imrahil’s turned serious. Mustering indifference in his voice, he said, “King Thranduil, the kings of men of Dunedains and the Northern people have asked you to consider the creation of the High Council that will stand jury over the matter. The kings would bring forth their sons for the trials and have promised no intervention from them. The trial is not meant to prove whether or not the princes are guilty, for they vouched to admit it before the High Council, but it is meant to prove that their transgression is not enough to warrant them high punishment of death.

The members of the High Council must not be Dunedains or any Northern people, nor elves. There will be 12 members, six will be decided by the side of the accused princes, and 6 by you. Each party then should bring forth a representative to prove his case.”

“Do you think of me fool, Imrahil? Death is the worthy punishment for such crime committed against a prince or king regardless of his or her race. Why do you have to argue it? As I remembered it clearly, such law has been signed by the kings themselves. Are they to go against their own words? Death by dawn is what those princes deserve.” Thranduil said, his voice was laced with repressed anger.

“Such punishment is only extended to the members of the Great Alliance,” Imrahil replied dispassionately.

“The Great Alliance was created…”

“After the signing of the Treaty of Equality,” Galadriel cut Thranduil’s words.

“Your majesty, your father did not sign the treaty,” Imrahil continued. 

Dark scarlet spattered on the floor as the cup of wine Thranduil was holding dropped, clanged, and then rolled onto the dark corner.

In Thranduil’s mind was a white ship sailing towards the horizon under a twilight sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a note even just to say 'hi.' :)


	5. The Gift of Gab

The day came when Middle Earth once again beheld its fairest race. The streets of Gondor were teeming with bustling energy; all wanted to see the coming of the visitors. Their energy did not wane, even for the long wait. Finally, the trumpets were sounded. And they came.

The elves did not come in ceremonial pace, but in a hurried full gallop. Their faces were pale, flawlessly beautiful, yet passive against the playful wind disturbed by their passing. Their eyes were all looking towards the gate of Gondor. No glances paid to the worshipping crowd. No smiles bestowed to flowers given. These were the elves, others could be heard saying. They were beautiful beyond human measure, yet distant and cold.

All who had come were seated: Galadriel and Elrond at the right panel, the princes and kings at the left. They were facing the great council, headed by Saruman, chief counsel of the wizard. The crowd rose when the newly-formed council, handpicked by each party, entered: three dwarves, three hobbits, six wizards. As soon as everyone was seated, the case was read. Elrond’s heart sank every time each prince uttered ‘not guilty.’ A betrayal he thought. ‘Wait’ Galadriel said in his mind. And then came the Prince of Arnor.

 “I plead guilty, your honor,” said the Prince. The crowd gasped as if they were seeing a giant glass shattered in their midst. “ I pleaded guilty,” the Prince said again, and this time with conviction. He walked forward and to the center.

“I first met Legolas a couple of summers ago. It was Boromir’s day to be exact…”

 

**Earendur**

_“Where’s your cousin?” Boromir said, and gulped his drink after. He then proceeded to ask for another glass of ale._

_“He will come,” he said._

_“But what must be so urgent that he must have to tarry?”_

" _Brother, think of it this way. More time to wait, more ale to drink,” Faramir quipped._

_“More ale,” Boromir agreed enthusiastically._

_“Boromir, between us and a ‘warm’ bed, do you think Aragorn would have a difficult choice to make?” Theodred said, smirking._

_“I wonder why he has been secretive about it.”_

 

_Then the rowdy merry-making came to a sudden halt. Everyone in the tavern was in awe. A light came through the door like a visitation of the valar. For the first time of his life, he felt a tug in his heart, a flutter. He must have been enchanted. He couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful Stranger._

_"I am Legolas…”_

 

_He knew then that he was in love._

 

**_Boromir_ **

_“Well met, beautiful stranger… I meant Legolas,” he said, “is there anything we can help you with?”_

_"Do you know Estel? He invited me for his friend’s birthday.”_

  _“Estel?”He turned to the others who were still staring ridiculously at Legolas. He grinned, and then returned his attention to the elf “Oh. That must be Aragorn.  So you’re the surprised guest._

_“I’m Boromir. And it is my day today. And since I am the only one who has not lost my tongue, I welcome you in behalf of my friend.”_

_“I’m Theodred.”_

_“Earendur, my lord."_

 

_It was an instant liking. He could tell that both Theodred and Earendur had been affected much by Legolas’ presence. It must be infatuation. He thought at first. Both Theodred and Earendur seemed to pursue their interest of which the elf seemed to accept until then when the two had decided to end their rivalry by a drinking game._

 

**_Theodred_ **

_He accepted the challenge. Whoever could drink more glasses and remained standing won. Earendur proved to have had more practice as he won the drinking game. Legolas became his. He was annoyed. Disappointed. However, in the end, he accepted it. A deal is a deal. He lost. Legolas continued to be their friend. He joined them in their hunting. In their  drinking. In their  adventures.  He became one of them._

 

_“Theodred? Where’s Earendur?”_

_"Why, Legolas? I thought he had been with you all day.”_

  _“Faramir then called him and since then he has not been back.”_

  _“You miss him then?”_

  _“I just feel lonely.”_

  _“Well, I can be of service to you if you don’t mind.”_

  _“I saw a river by that side. Will you come with me?”_

  _“Sure.”_

 

_Legolas was the first elf he had come to lay eyes on. He did not know what a river or a lake mean to an elf. And he did not know what effect a naked elf could do to a mere human. It was his failings that he accepted. That day then, he earned Earendur’s wrath._

 

“Liar!”

 Silence followed the outburst. Then the owner of the voice stood up and walked closer to the princes. With tears in his eyes, Aragorn once again shouted, “You’re all lying!"

 With his eyes moist with fury, he looked at each one of them.  "With all my heart, of my every breath, I am denouncing you, my kin, comrades-in-arms! I am ashamed of you!”

 Elrond felt as though he got hit by an invisible arrow, right down through his chest. It pierced through his heart. The King of Gondor stood up too. Fear was written all over his face. Elrond now knew what the dark cloud looming over him was for. He turned to Galadriel who had been observing him.

 

‘You knew this? My son is involved?’ he asked.

 ‘Be strong. It’s only the beginning,’ Galadriel replied dispassionately.

 

Who was lying? Whispers echoed through the coliseum. Lord Aragorn against the words of his cousin and comrades? Weren’t they all honorable men? Who was the elf to which they lost their senses? Was he all worth it? Saruman stood up, and, with the gavel on his hand, declared the meeting suspended.  

 

Five days later, war ensued.  

  


	6. Crimson Dawn

The night was supposed to be graced by the brilliance of the moon.  But the clouds had appeared and hid the light that could have revealed the shadows galloping away from the gates of Gondor. Although the elves’ exit went undetected, their disappearance did not go unnoticed. That same night, a meeting was held in the secret chamber, underneath the castle.

 “They’re all gone. The elves are gone!” Earendur the Second said.

“It could only mean one thing. They are not interested in hearing the council’s decision,” his father said.

“But, father, will this lead us to war?” he asked. His father, King Earendur the First of Arnor, gave no answer, yet instead turned his gaze towards Arathorn, King of Gondor.

 “I’m afraid it can happen,” Arathorn answered, his voice was distant.

 “But, father, my kings, I already submitted to the council my willingness to bind myself to Legolas. Is it not the only way to redeem what I have broken?” One could easily hear a tinge of desperation in his voice.

”They must have known of our plea earlier,” Theoden, the King of Rohan, said. “I’m afraid it is one they least wanted.”

“How arrogant are they to refuse my son’s offer!”

“Our great grandfathers thought they were. Do you recall the difficulty our great grandfathers had undergone just to pass the creation of the Treaty of Equality?” Theoden said, disgust was evident in his voice.

“You mistook indomitableness for arrogance,” Arathorn answered, “if that is the case, then you may as well be guilty of such. Your sons brought upon this ill fortune to themselves. They should be man enough to take upon themselves the appropriate consequences.”

“Then I will die if I have to!” Earendur answered.

“I cannot allow my son and my kingdom to pay for the mistake he shared with the others!”

 None dared to answer. All the kings and princes let the silence lord over them.

The night passed by untroubled. The dawn broke out, splattered colors across the sky. But to most occupants of the royal chambers, night had served no purpose. They were all feeling the onus of the consequences of their sons’ error that sleep did not come to them. Could they bring themselves to sentence their sons’ death? It was only a matter of choosing between Thranduil’s son and their sons. King Thranduil was no member of the alliance.

 Was there even an option?

*******

**Rivendell**

Elrond was not surprised to find Thranduil in Rivendell. But he was surprised to find him calm.

 “I am now numb with rage, Elrond. My whole being is dead.”

 “I am sorry,” he said.

 “Where’s Aragorn?” The very mentioned of his foster son’s name sent shiver down his spine.

 “Don’t, Thranduil. Legolas must have loved him to go with him.” The tears stubbornly fell down his cheeks.

 “Where is he?”

“By the Valar, Thranduil, have mercy!” The urgent knock at the door kept Thranduil from replying.

“Come,” Elrond said. The door opened and Elladan stepped in.

 “Father! Arwen, and Elrohir…they need you.” Two more knives were stabbed into Elrond’s heart.

Arwen was the Evenstar of elves. She was Luthien in flesh. When she first met the young Estel, she was amused. He was a delight. He wrote her poems, recited and sang them to her. She was flattered. She was entertained. She fell in love. It was not because of the poems. No. She had heard far better poems written about her. But Arwen fell for his charm, for his wit, for his brashness. There was more. She felt deeply in love with the man that Estel had become. They were fated.

**_“When he is ready, Arwen. When he proves to himself and to me that he deserves the Evenstar of the elven race.”_ **

It was Elrond’s words. Arwen took it as a vow and remembered it by heart. And it was now that it came to Elrond’s realization that Estel made no such promise.

**_When he is ready._ **

Arwen waited for that day to come. She thought the little Estel and the man Aragorn had worshipped the same star. For too long she had lived in Lothlorien that it did not come to her knowledge that her Estel plucked the greenest leaf in Mirkwood and wore it in his heart. Until now…

 


	7. The Last Green Leaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there's a non-graphic rape scene.  
> And I'm not excusing my errors but oh well, this is unbeta(ed).  
> And lastly, thank you, readers, for being patient. This is Legolas' version of the event.

Legolas's POV

 

Legolas was what his father called him. He was the last young elf to grace the Middle Earth as most elves were ripe in age, in adventure, and in life. Covering his face from the sudden onslaught of the sun light, he grimaced. It pained him to think that just when he was yearning to live his life to the fullest, the rest were ready to depart the Middle Earth.

 “We’re now at the boundary of the forest, Legolas,” Esteleryn, his brother said. His voice was comforting.

 “How far are we from Rivendell then?” he asked, excitedly. Tuilas raised his eye brow.

 “The tone of your voice is like a dagger to Ada’s chest. By the Valar, Legolas, are you  telling us that Mirkwood is a boring place?!”

 “Tuilas! I have not been out of Mirkwood. I am yet to see the blue sky without the canopy of trees.”

 “You don’t have to go as far as Rivendell if you only want to see the blue sky,” Lasare answered, his voice laced with mirth.

 “I see. It ‘s such a laborious task to take me to Rivendell,” he said, feigning hurt.

 “You know we will climb Mt. Doom if you will tell us to,” Lasare said.

 “We need to ride fast if we want to arrive there before sunset,” Esteleryn interrupted them, urging his horse to move faster. The princes followed his lead along with a few elven guards.

 They arrived in Rivendell just as Esteleryn estimated. His brother was a regular visitor of Elrond, so as his two other brothers—Tuilas and Lasare. The thousands of waterfalls hummed upon his arrival. Flowers seemed to open their buds, butterflies were swarming. His knowledge of Rivendell may have been copious, but, all the same, Legolas upon seeing the place was ensnared with an overwhelming pleasure. From then on, his three brothers would take him to Rivendell as often as he desired lest his countenance grew even paler, his heart dour. He had never known how his father regretted ever giving him permission to go that first day.

Then there came Aragorn. The man was a mystery to Legolas. He had been since their first meeting at his father’s palace. His passion for the world around him was equally met. His longing to seek adventure was enthusiastically shared. It did not help that he felt as though he swallowed a butterfly every time Aragorn was beside him.

 “Shhh…” Aragorn’s voice tickled his ear.

“Huh?” he asked, confused.

 “Can you hear it?” Aragorn asked, tilting his head a bit of which action he eagerly imitated.

 “Waterfalls?”

 “Is that what you call it?” He saw him smirk.

 “If it is not waterfalls, then it must be birds?”

“Listen closely. Here, where you can best hear it.” Aragorn guided his head down to his chest.

 “You fool! That’s your heart, beating!”

 “It says Le.go.las, Le.go.las.” He felt the warm on his face. It reached the back of his neck, and then crept down to his spine and down to his legs. He was not educated to this strange feeling. They kissed. Soft lips pressed to his. He opened his mouth to welcome it. It tickled his senses and lifted him off his feet.

 “What’s wrong?” Aragorn asked, worried. Legolas touched his own lips. They were tender, swollen and burning. He returned his gaze to him. Aragorn’s eyes were glassy and fierce with passion. And when Aragorn moved to engulf him, he embraced him with equal fervor.

 That was their first night. Then came the second. The next. The young man was his constant companion. They were hunting at daylight. They were naked under the pale moonlight.

 ********

Gallivanting with Aragorn was what made Rivendell the more beautiful for Legolas. Whereas the humming of the water falls perked his ears and the colors of the flowers in Elrond’s garden, his eyes; Aragorn’s mere presence, his heart. His absence, thus, was taken like a plant missing its daily sprinkle of water.

“Daug is not by himself today. But I can sense he likes Arod. What do you think? Legolas?” He heard Elrohir talking beside him, but the meaning of the words blurred a little in his mind. It took a few seconds to register its meaning.

 “I see. It’s not only Daug who has been infested by some kind of a spell. There must be something in the air,” Elrohir continued, he pretended to sniff.

 “Arod is a stubborn horse. I wonder why Daug would like him,” he finally answered.

 “All the same, Daug is completely smitten by Arod.”

 “Wait till he sees Shadowfax. My Arod will be completely forgotten. In fact Arod seems to develop an instant liking to him.”

 “Ah, the prince of the horses. Daug has met him, and he gives him the same respect and adoration given to someone of great stature. But, no, I know Daug. His adoration towards Arod is not between a prince and his loyal knight. No, it’s more than that,” Elrohir said, his gaze was no longer on the horses, but to where whose face was like sprinkled with little fairies, whose nose and lips were carved by the kisses of the Valar, whose eyes were the window of Ea.

 “It gladdens me that Arod has found an admirer. I wish then that it is Daug that can tame his wild heart.” Arod was no ordinary horse. He was not cut out to serve. He rebelled and refused to have anyone ride him. He was wild the first time Legolas saw him. His father had decided to send the horse away lest he may accidentally kill any rider who would attempt to ride him. But Legolas saw something in the horse. He saw kindred in that lonely soul that sought release from the propriety that bound him. He rode him. Arod recognized the kindred soul instantly and allowed it to happen. Since then, Arod was his.

 “Then, he has to visit Rivendell regularly,” Elrohir said, smiling, eyes never leaving Legolas’ face, “to begin the taming.”

 Both he and Elrohir then turned to where the noise came from. Footsteps disappeared suddenly as though aware that they were being detected.

 “Up here!”

They looked up and saw Elladan sitting on a big branch of the oak tree, crowned with the glory of Rivendell sky.

“What are you doing there?” Elrohir asked.

“Entertaining myself. By the way, Elrohir Ada has been looking for you.”

It was meant for Elrohir to leave. Legolas knew Elladan had something to tell him.

 “Then I shall see him. Can we meet in the garden again, Legolas?”

 “I will see you at the hall tonight. Your father had asked of my presence there.”

“Oh. See you tonight then.”

Elrohir reluctantly left. Elladan came down from the tree when he saw his brother was no longer within earshot.

“Estel will arrive from Gondor tonight. He said not to worry your little heart. You will soon be reunited,” Elladan said in a manner inappropriate to his age.

 “And what is amusing, Elladan?” He asked rather petulantly.

“You and Estel are acting as though your hearts are connected. You weren’t born twins, were you?”

 

“I am happy, Elladan. This is something I haven’t experienced before” he replied.

“I’m no stranger to that.”

 “Really?”

“Yes,” Elladan answered. He saw the curiosity in Legolas’ eyes, “but I’m not telling,” he continued to Legolas’ disappointment.

However, that night Legolas did not wait for Aragorn. He went to the place where he thought his lover would likely go.

 “This Legolas was a secret passage from Rivendell to Gondor. Adar made this to make going there convenient. It is near the river, so it is safer. Orcs do not pass by this area.”

He remembered it, and it was not his first time to have waited for Aragorn there as well. From the outside, one could only see a river banked with tall wild bushes. The water was rapid that none would dare to cross. He stopped by the end of the passage, the entrance to the land of Gondor. He got off his horse and sat. The sun was almost setting, and Aragorn did not arrive yet. Legolas stood up. He walked a few paces, stared at the bushes that covered the entrance. He lifted them, and stepped out of it, and into the land of men.

 At the early stage of his journey, he felt the urge to return. The rareness of trees made him feel melancholic. There was oddity to find a place almost treeless at the outskirts of a huge forest. His travel though in solace was with the comfort of the star that guided his path. His gaze often lingered at it while humming verses of old tales. Arod was comforted with it. But still he could sense the uneasiness in his horse.

He soon found a stone-made house with light. It was built in the middle of nowhere. Strange place, indeed! He saw people coming in and out of the door. They were like Aragorn, with their rough faces, devoid of pointy ears.

 There was silence when he came in. He was welcomed by surprised stares. He dared not to return those, but instead proceeded to walk near the group of men whose clothing indicated they were of high ranks.

 “I am Legolas,” he said. These men were dressed like Aragorn. What gave him confidence to approach them was that two of them bore Gondorian seal. This was the same seal he saw in one of Aragorn’s clothing.

“Well met. I’m Boromir, Captain of Gondor.”

“I’m Earendur, my lord, from Arnor. ”

 “I am Faramir. Boromir’s my brother. I am captain of Ithilien.”

 “I am Bain. Bard is my father. The king of Dale.”

“I’m Theodred. Theoden is my father. He is the king of Rohan. I am glad to meet you beautiful stranger. What brings you in the land of men?”

 “I am from Mirkwood. My father is Thranduil.”

 “The king of Mirkwood realm,” Faramir said, awestruck.

“I’ve heard a lot about the temper of the king,” Boromir replied. 

“It’s strange to see you in our land, Legolas. You still have to answer the question. What brings you here?” Theodred asked again.

 “I come to meet Estel.”

“Estel?” Boromir said, confused. They seemed to have heard the name, but could not place a face on it.

 “He’s the prince of Gondor,” Legolas clarified.

 “We only have one prince of Gondor, and he is Aragorn,” Boromir answered.

 “He is, indeed, Estel. We called him Estel,” Legolas smiled.

 “Ah. My cousin. We’re also waiting for him. He promised to drop by here. You’re just in time as we’re celebrating Boromir’s day. We have ale. You can try this one while waiting for him,” Earendur said, offering a drink.

Everything then that followed was like disjointed flashes of scenes: of him being taken outside, of him lying on a big bed, and of these men…one by one…on top of him. It was madness.  The gate of Mandos opened, ready to receive him. _Where’s Estel?_  Was his last thought.

 


	8. Crimson Dawn (Part 2)

Elrohir’s POV

The waterfalls were practically singing, and the trees were dancing. The wind was a little bubbly. It was strange. Elrohir thought at first, and then he saw what had caused all of this. His gaze fell on the golden hair that glowed at sunlight. This reminded him of the golden woods and its golden stream. Then came the face designed when Arda was on her bloomest. His eyes must have been carved from a pair of beautiful stars at night. His nose was made out from kisses as his lips, a mound formed as remnant of the Ilúvatar’s great love to his elves.

“Well met, Lords Esteleryn, Tuilas and Lasare. I am afraid I am yet to know the name of your beautiful companion,” he said. He knew Esteleryn. He was his best companion.  
“Elrohir, this is Legolas. Legolas, this is Elrohir. Father has finally succumbed to his eager desire to come here in Rivendell,” said Esteleryn with amusement in his voice.  
“Well met, Legolas,” he said, extending his arm to greet him. Legolas took it and they embraced. Sweet smell invaded his nostrils; warmed his heart. He suddenly felt the urge to touch Legolas’ golden hair.  
“Do not stare at him longer, Elrohir. He is petulant, and he will crush your heart. Father has a great reason to keep him in Mirkwood,” Tuilas said in jest, but both Esteleryn and Legolas were dismayed.  
“Tuilas, always the joker. He is just possessive of Legolas, Elrohir,” Lasare said.  
“And my opinion does not matter, I supposed,” Legolas answered. His face showed no anger, nor amusement. It was like hundreds of butterflies just died before their eyes.  
“I am sorry, Legolas.” There was a hint of regret in Tuilas’ voice. “I’m only teasing. Elrohir and I were used to it. And you know how much I adore you.”  
Legolas’ presence in Rivendell enlivened the elves. His youthful exuberance ignited creative passion in every elf who laid eyes on him, transforming Elrond’s hall into a contest in celebration of a great beauty expressed eloquently in verses and paintings. It was as if the days of merriment had arrived once again. It was, however, for the elders an anachronism as the golden age of the elves had long been gone. Grey haven had been greatly tempting and the strength of their resistance wavered every day. The sage in Elrond’s court had welcomed such distraction, but they could not resist painting dread in the face of such festivity.  
“Do I have reason to worry for our Legolas?” Esteleryn’s voice had shaken him out of his rumination.  
“Perhaps, you can say I give no fight against your brother’s charm,” he answered.  
“And here I am hoping you should have fought harder like a great warrior that you are. However, it will bring me much comfort if Legolas will choose you.” Indeed! This gave him confidence to seek the young elf’s heart. He did pursue his intention in the garden.  
“Have you ever considered binding yourself with another, Legolas?” he asked, so softly that Legolas almost did not hear it.  
“I have not thought about it yet. But I understand that I will have to in the future. I need to experience more and engage in more adventures to be worthy with whomever I betroth myself —be it a male or a female.”  
“I am sure there will be more persistent male admirers than female who would probably just hide their intentions behind their shy smiles. Do you see yourself being wedded with another male elf?” Elrohir saw that Legolas’ cheeks turned to pink, and his eyes glistened.

He did not answer him, but rather gave him a shy smile that would forever disturb Elrohir’s sleep.  
Elrond was happy of his choice. Being betrothed with Legolas meant Elrohir chose the first-born life and, thus, would live forever with him in the grey haven. The elder elf then encouraged him to ask permission from Thranduil. Although parents normally did not choose their children’s life partner, it would be more appropriate if Thranduil would know of Elrohir’s intention to his youngest son. Elrohir had decided to accompany the young prince on his way home to Mirkwood that same night when he made a promise to meet him in Elrond’s hall. That was the same night he last saw the light in Legolas’ eyes.  
The news broke his heart while the knowledge of Estel and Legolas’ secret liaison sent him crashing down into the halls of Mandos. It was just too much for him to bear that he was content to live thinking about that day when he and Legolas were together in the garden. The young elf was smiling at him. It was the very image he would take with him in his eternal sleep.

******************  
Elrond’s POV

Elrond was a great healer. But could he call out a soul from the death? There was still warmth in Elrohir’s hand when he touched it. But Arwen’s was fast getting cold. He was sickened by the thought that he could not save both. His mind was besieged with images of his daughter hinting about Aragorn’s intention to her.  
_“He needs to prove himself to me that he deserves you, Arwen. When he is ready, then he and you will have my blessings.”_  
But it was his words. It was his promise. He understood it now. There was a day that Estel was smiling by just looking at a butterfly. There was a night he saw him sang to the star. There were days he volunteered himself to go with the rangers. This he thought was Estel‘s intention to learn more, to experience more, to grow more. He thought it was because he was intending to prove his worth to Arwen. He thought he was ready to ask Arwen’s hand. He understood it now. It was clear as day. Elrond was just probably too preoccupied with his thought that Legolas was for Elrohir, and Arwen was for Aragorn. No. He could not blame Aragorn. He, Aragorn, gave no promise to Arwen. He, Elrond, did.  
_When he is ready._  
If he wept too hard, he was endangered to slip into the Hall of Mandos. If he gave in to the panic in his heart, he would lose both of his children. He could not leave Elrohir. He could still save him. But Arwen. She was his heart.  
Warm hand touched his shoulder, giving him comfort. He almost surrendered to his anger. He was sitting in between his two children lying on the beds in the house of healing. His right hand was holding his daughter while his left was with his son.  
“This is all because of the love for your son, Thranduil.”  
Could he really put all the blame on the youngest prince of Mirkwood?  
Rivendell’s wind suddenly turned to dense. The waterfalls had changed their songs. The sky darkened. The clouds were pregnant with impending doom. That same night while the house of Elrond was in mourning, Mirkwood’s warriors saddled their horses, sharpened their swords and arrows, and marched their way onward to the battle of their lifetime.


	9. Heroes of Men (Part One)

Earendur II was the only son of the king of Arnor. He was tall, broad-shouldered and dark-haired. He was known for his skill in sword fighting and undeniable charm, but most of all for his pair of piercing green eyes. He had had many lovers, shared his bed with them. His father once asked him if he ever intended to settle down and have family. His answer must have been vague, for he no longer remembered it.  
“Arrows!”  
“Shields!”  
The sky was darkened with arrows, hitting their targets. One, two, three. Too many to count. His men were one by one dropping, soaking the earth with blood.  
“Attack!”  
Clang. Clang.  
Metal against metal. Swords against swords. It seemed to him as though he were fighting for ages, muscling his way for survival. He could no longer feel the sword in his hand, nor its weight. But the creature before him exhibited no sense of exhaustion. His swiftness remained. His gracefulness never dwindled. This was a true warrior. Fierce, yet still beautiful.  
“Ai!” It was not by his sword. Nor it came from the elf before him. Nevertheless, this took the elf’s attention from him. A few feet from them was another elf on the ground bleeding from Bain’s sword. One final blow could have ended the elf’s life. But none came. His comrade just stood still as though stunned that he had defeated his enemy. Then, suddenly, in a swift fluid motion, the elf who once was standing before him, dashed towards his kin, swung his sword and slashed Bain in his gut. The young prince fell on the ground.  
“Bain!” He ran to him, pulling him away from the clashing throng.  
“Bain, can you hear me?” He was meaning to be loud, but it came out hoarse. It did not come to him that he had placed himself in a vulnerable position just by showing his concern to his friend. The clashing of swords was still loud. Feet that once were standing were now lying motionless on the ground.  
“I can hear you well, Earendur. It’s not too deep.” Bain sounded well. Too well that he could even hear humor in his voice.  
“You have the chance. Why didn’t you kill him?”  
“I don’t kill elves.”  
_I don’t kill elves._  
The sun was almost setting. Looking around him, he saw his men still clutching their swords, swinging to strike their enemies, fighting as though they were no tomorrow. But they were no elves. Exhaustion was evident on their faces.  
“Retreat! Retreat!”  
Trees were mourning. Birds were singing dirge. The rivers were red. Grounds were filled with bodies of fallen heroes. Both elves and men.  
It was the tenth day since the war began.

* * *

  
The fire swayed by the blowing of the wind. He stood up to get more woods. His men needed heat in their sleep.  
“Stay. I have brought more woods with me.” He turned to see Faramir carrying dried woods.  
“Let me help you instead.” He walked towards him and shared the burden being carried by his comrade.  
“How many this time?”  
“We just lost 112 more men, and 20 are wounded.” Earendur flinched at Faramir’s reply.  
“Have you heard about your king attending the funeral?”  
“Yes,” Faramir’s answer was soft. “You need to understand it was all because of Aragorn.”  
He found himself gazing at the flame again. It was so tempting. It would hurt, but it was just what he wanted. His soul needed whipping. His flesh needed scorching. This was small punishment to the sin he committed: A sin that caused lives and threatened to ruin his father’s kingdom.  
“The sin you did not commit alone,” Faramir said.  
“You can read minds?”  
“No. But the guilt is written all over your face.”  
“What were we thinking that night? Every day I thought about what happened. How..how it came to it all.”  
“And you think I did not do the same?”  
“You could have denied it. It would have been I alone. Only one life. You could have saved more lives.” Earendur still thought it was the best course to take.

* * *

 _Chaos followed after a messenger from Gondor came to deliver his message._  
_“King Earendur of Arnor is being asked to surrender his son, Earendur II.”_  
_His father was enraged. The king had accepted Gondor’s constant need in interfering in an affair outside his kingdom except for this._  
_“How could you lose your mind, bringing our kingdom to this state?!” his father unleashed his outburst to him._  
_“I do not know!” He kneeled down before his father’s feet for forgiveness. “If I could amend my error, I would in whatever manner. Take me to Gondor and let me face the consequences.”_  
_He went to Gondor, thinking he was about to face death. But his father had another plan._  
_“Arathorn, Thranduil is not a member of the alliance. He is not under the laws among the united realms.”_  
_“But Elrond is! Your son wronged his kin. It was Elrond who had brought the complaints.”_  
_“But Earendur did not do it alone!” The last word reverberated. Faramir stood at the door, eyes red with tears. “I cannot live thinking you will die to save us from our guilt, Earendur,” Faramir continued._  
_“What were you thinking, Faramir?” It was King Arathorn’s turn to be enraged. Madness! Whatever sickness it was that corrupted the line of the Dunedain. Not one. Not two. Five young men of noble birth. Arathorn was even more furious._

* * *

  
When marriage came out in the discussion as the only way out, he almost believed it. He thought King Thranduil would accept his offered marriage and an alliance of four kingdoms. But Legolas’ father was not even present to hear their plea. He instead answered their presents with deadly arrows that started the war.  
“All the same. Do you think the Mirkwood king would be satisfied with only one death?” Faramir’s voice brought him back to the present. He continued, “Besides, your death is mine too.”  
His gaze fell on Faramir’s face.  
“What do you mean?” he asked though the answer started to dawn on him. How many times did Faramir warm his bed? How many drunken moments were there when they would find themselves in the same bed? They were standing too close now. Most of his men were sleeping inside their tents while those who preferred outside were already past asleep. Faramir’s breath was warm on his neck. The wind was calm. The trees stood still. The moon and the stars were hidden behind the thick clouds. Bathed in the glow of the bonfire, they were like shadows, standing, embracing may be. But there were no mistaken of the glimmer in Faramir’s eyes and of the sound of his heart, beating fast. Their lips met, enmeshed in the heat of passion. It was for Earendur a break from the monstrosity of his transgression, a paradise in a barren land. But then again, he was once again reminded.  
“Men died because of me.” With a heavy heart, he turned his back to Faramir.  
“But aren’t we still alive?” Faramir said, still panting from the passion they just shared.  
“I’m doomed. I cannot love you, yet hurt you in the end.” Too late. He thought. He loved him already. Penance.  
“Or because you have been reserving it to someone who will never marry you!” He flinched at the anger in Faramir’s voice. It was too much for him. It was as if everything he did or said hurt the younger man.  
“You love him.” It was not a question.  
“No!” He shouted. “I don’t even know him.” The last came like a whisper, almost inaudible.  
The breeze was becoming colder. The clouds denser. Then the rain came, pelting the earth, sending the men into their tents and dousing the fire. They had no light. No warmth. The sky growled. Intimidating.

  
_“Enough, enough! Get off him!”_  
 _He was being pulled and pushed down. On the ground, he was struggling to discern the face of his attacker. It was all vague. But that voice. It was familiar to him._  
 _Faramir?_

  
“Earendur!” Gasping for air while fighting off the sleepiness, he sat up.  
“What are you doing here, Theodred? I thought you’re wounded.”  
“I needed to wake you up. Ithilien was attacked too early this morning.”  
“What? Where’s Faramir?”  
“He's already there. He took some men with him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Drop me a note even just to say 'hi.' :)


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